


These Holidays Won't Be Wonderful (or, 5 Christmases In The Life Of Emma Swan That Really Suck And 1 That Doesn't)

by writetherest



Series: All My Care And Woe [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: 5 Times, Christmas, F/F, Gen, Holidays, except it's really 6 times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 06:30:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writetherest/pseuds/writetherest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>She drinks whiskey by the light of the Christmas tree and does her best not to stare at the emptiness underneath it. ... But it still stings, in that familiar way that reminds her that yes, it's Christmas. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Holidays Won't Be Wonderful (or, 5 Christmases In The Life Of Emma Swan That Really Suck And 1 That Doesn't)

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the song I Hate Christmas Parties by Relient K which was also kind of the inspiration for this story.

**1990 – 7 years old**

Emma Swan trudges determinedly through the department store, a little girl on a mission, not to be stopped. Her dress, which is not at all her usual attire and was taken from a drawer of another girl at the foster home, is a bit too small and very itchy, and her size too big snow boots that she'd pilfered from the closet of one of the boys clash terribly with it. But she'd been determined to look pretty, so the dress was a must, and the snow that had fallen over night made the boots a necessary evil to get to the department store.

She finds what she is looking for at the very back of the store, and sighs in relief when she sees that the line is not too long. She's not supposed to be here, and if they find out that she is, she's sure to be in big trouble. She knows what all the other kids have told her - that he isn't real, that it's all a lie, a fairy tale adults made up to make kids behave - but Emma loves fairy tales, and she believes whole heartedly.

So when it is finally her turn, she marches proudly up to the overstuffed chair, a huge smile showing off her missing front teeth. "Hi Santa!" She grins.

"Well hello there, young lady." Santa smiles, lifting her up onto his lap. "And what is your name?"

"Emma."

"Emma. What a beautiful name. So tell me, Emma, have you been a good girl this year?"

"Oh yes." She nods, thinking about how she had done her best to stay out of trouble and not fight with the other kids and always finish her vegetables and do everything that Mrs. Williams told her to do.

"Well, that's what I like to hear." Santa smiles, his eyes twinkling, just like she always imagined they would. "So, Emma, what is it that you'd like for Christmas?"

And Emma closes her eyes tightly, thinking of the only thing she wants for Christmas – the only wish she ever wishes for. "I want a mom and dad." She whispers, so only Santa can hear. "I want my mom and dad."

For a long time, Santa just looks at her in a way she doesn't understand, because Santa isn't supposed to be sad, he's supposed to be jolly, and she's been a very good girl, so there's no reason why he can't make her Christmas wish come true, right? Then finally he runs his hand over her slightly tangled hair.

"That's a very… big wish, sweetheart." He says, and his voice is soft and sad and she still doesn't understand, because maybe it's big, but nothing is too big for Santa.

"I've been very good." She tells him again, just to make sure he understands. "I know I'm on the nice list."

"Oh, Emma, I know you are, too."

She smiles widely at that. "See! I knew you'd be able to do it. The other kids said you wouldn’t, that you weren't real, but I knew the truth!"

She hugs him tightly and then hops down off his lap. She needs to get back before they realize she's gone. She's gotten her promise of her present from Santa and that's all that she came for. She doesn't even linger to take a candy cane from the elf at the exit.

"But Emma –" Santa calls after her, but she doesn't hear him. She's too excited and in too much of a hurry to get back to the foster home.

On Christmas morning, she's the first one down the stairs, bursting with excitement to see her parents. But there is no one there. Only a few tiny presents under the tree with her name on them – some socks and a toothbrush and a tiny stuffed dog.

She figures that parents are probably too big to fit under the tree, and that Santa will have them come to the home later, to pick her up and take her on her way. She wants to look pretty for them, so she puts on the same dress again, asking first this time, and sits by the door waiting. The other kids go out to play in the snow, but she doesn't move from her spot by the door all day. As the hours pass, her heart gets heavier and heavier and her grip on the little stuffed dog gets tighter and tighter.

Finally Mrs. Williams makes her go to bed. It is there, still clutching the little stuffed dog, that Emma allows herself to cry.

It is also there, in the dark of a Christmas night, that Emma Swan stops believing in Santa Claus and fairy tales.

_**1993 – 10 years old** _

There are presents piled high under the Christmas tree, but only one of them has her name on it. The rest are labeled to Susan, the real daughter of the family she's been placed with for now. Susan takes every opportunity to remind Emma that she is the real daughter and Emma is not at all a real part of the family.

Even seeing one present with her name on it is a surprise, and she picks up the gift with something akin to wonder, staring at it as though the name on the tag will suddenly change. Susan has no problem ripping through her presents – wrapping paper is already flying through the air.

Very slowly, she pulls the paper away, until she is left holding a beautiful, leather bound book. It is a deep, rich shade of brown, and embossed across the front are the words 'Grimm's Fairy Tales'. Although she stopped believing in them years ago, Emma can't help but be taken by the beautiful book. She runs her fingers over the front of it, feeling the leather and tracing the gold letters in their elegant script.

Then, she carefully opens the book. It is filled with gorgeous pictures, illustrating each of the stories. She stops at a depiction of Snow White, amazed by the beauty of the artwork. The princess depicted is gorgeous, and she feels something inside of her stir at the picture.

"Snow White," she whispers, and she cannot believe that something this beautiful belongs to her.

She begins to read the story, but gets only as far as _once upon a time_ before the book is ripped from her hands.

"What do you have?" Susan questions, as though she is not allowed to have anything. The slightly older girl takes in the book, flipping carelessly through the pages.

"It's a book." She says softly. "Please, can I –"

"I want this." Susan declares, already carrying the book away from Emma, the decision made.

"No, wait!" She feels suddenly desperate. "It's my present. It had my name on it."

"Well too bad," Susan sneers, "I'm the real child in this family, you're just the foster kid. So what I want, I get. And I want this book."

"No." Emma says, feeling rage bubbling up inside her. She was finally given a present – a beautiful present – and she will not allow it to be taken away. "It's mine!"

She makes a lunge for the book and tries to grab it out of Susan's hands. But Susan is quicker than her and moves away easily, laughing as Emma falls to the floor. Tears are welling up in Emma's eyes and Susan finds it hilarious.

"Aww, poor baby. Does the book mean that much to you that you're going to cry over it? Then, here, take the stupid thing."

And she rips the pages out, tossing them at Emma's feet. "Have fun reading it." She sneers as she walks away.

Emma drops to her knees, trying to gather the pages, but she cannot put the book back together. The beautiful picture of Snow White has been completely destroyed. She sits on the floor, clutching the pages and crying.

Through her tears, she makes out a few words that haven't been torn apart. _And they all lived happily ever after._

She shakes her head angrily.

There is no such thing as happily ever after – at least not for her.

_**1997 – 14 years old** _

She's been through so many different schools – and so many different homes - already that she's lost count. She used to try, at the beginning, to fit in and make friends and participate in things. But she quickly learned that making friends and participating in things just made it hurt that much more when she inevitably had to leave. So she'd learned to just go to school, keep her head down, not talk, and make it through until she changed schools once again and started all over.

She's been at this school since the beginning of the year and it's already December – a record if there ever was one. She's still following the pattern, staying as aloof as possible, and for the most part, no one cares one way or the other. No one but Ms. Mitchell that is.

Ms. Mitchell is the music teacher and ever since Emma had her first music class, Ms. Mitchell has taken an interest in her. She praises her often for her singing and always asks how she's doing when they pass in the halls. She's a nice lady, and Emma likes her, as much as she'll allow herself to like anyone.

Ms. Mitchell asks her to stay after class, and she feels her stomach flip. What has she done? Is she in trouble? What will they say at the foster home?

"Emma," Ms. Mitchell says, smiling at her, like maybe she isn't in trouble after all, "I'm in charge of the Christmas pageant once again this year and we still need someone to sing a solo of Silent Night for us. You've got such a beautiful voice, I was hoping that you'd agree to do it."

She's taken aback by this. "You – you want me to sing?"

"I think you'd be wonderful. And I'm willing to work with you on the song, so that you feel comfortable singing it. What do you say?"

"I –" She's never had anyone tell her that she's good at anything before. Not one thing. And now Ms. Mitchell is saying that she's good enough at singing to sing a solo in the Christmas pageant. "Really?"

Ms. Mitchell smiles widely. "Really. What do you say?"

"Yes!" She agrees and she's suddenly so excited that she can't wait to tell everyone the news. Except there's really no one to tell. But even that won't upset her today.

She practices with Ms. Mitchell every day after school. Every day the music teacher reaffirms her talent and every day she feels more and more like things are finally going her way and she'll finally have a good Christmas memory.

Until two days before the Christmas pageant, when she comes back to the foster home to find a social worker there, informing her that she is once again being moved.

"But – but the pageant." She protests, begging to be allowed to stay just until after it is over.

The social worker is unrelenting though, and she is whisked away without even the chance to tell Ms. Mitchell what's happened.

On the night of the Christmas pageant, she lays in her new, cold bed, thinking about how she could be singing right at that very moment. She feels tears stinging her eyes, but she blinks them back. After Susan's horrible taunting over her tears, she has not allowed herself to cry since. She will not start tonight.

She swallows her tears and the song that are both rising up in her throat, and she vows not to let either out ever again.

_**2004 – 21 years old** _

She's gotten good at ignoring the holidays. She finds that if she just keeps moving, never settling, never staying in one place for more than a month or two, that time doesn't seem to catch up with her. Once October hits, she heads for places that are warm – where there's no chance of snow or other reminders that it's Christmas. She just keeps going from place to place, trying to escape the hole in her heart that doesn't seem like it will be filled anytime soon.

And it works pretty well, until she accidently catches sight of something in a store window that stops her in her tracks. It's a tiny stuffed puppy, so reminiscent of the one that had been her only friend until it had finally gotten lost in one of the many moves to a new home just before she'd finally escaped the system. There are tears in her eyes as she enters the store and before her mind can catch up with her, she is handing over most of her money to the clerk and leaving the store with the puppy cradled in her arms.

It's only after she gets back to her dingy apartment that she remembers – she has no one to give this puppy to. And even though she's done everything that she can to tamp down on those memories and that part of her heart, it all comes flooding back as she stares at the puppy.

She can see the little boy, the tiny baby, who had looked straight at her and into her very soul just before the nurse had taken him away. She hadn't held him – hadn't wanted to feel his weight in her arms, knowing if she did she'd never be able to let him go. Once she'd gotten out of the hospital, she'd left and never looked back.

But tonight it's too much, and she allows herself to think about him, to wonder. He would be three now. What did he look like? What was his personality like? Did he have a loving family like she'd always dreamed of but had never gotten? What had they named him? Where was he?

The questions come fast and furious once the dam is broken in her mind and she can't put them back away. They flood her mind until she can't stand it anymore, and she finds herself once again clutching a stuffed puppy and crying.

After all of her tears are spent, she goes to the cupboard and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. She drinks herself into oblivion, and when she finally wakes up again, she realizes that she was out for all of Christmas Day.

It doesn't bother her one bit.

_**2011 – 28 years old** _

She spends Christmas Eve alone. Mary Margaret has volunteered to read to the kids in the children's wing at the hospital. It's certainly not the first time she's spent Christmas Eve by herself, and is, in some ways, comforting. So much has been changing lately, and it's nice (and unsettling) to know that some things really don't change.

Mary Margaret has put up a tree in the living room of the apartment. Simple ornaments and white lights decorate it. Underneath, it is bare.

She drinks whiskey by the light of the Christmas tree and does her best not to stare at the emptiness underneath it. She doesn't expect Mary Margaret to get her a present – opening her home had been enough. But it still stings, in that familiar way that reminds her that yes, it's Christmas.

In the morning, she wakes up early and slips out of the apartment, glad when she finds that Mary Margaret isn't awake. She's not sure she can handle trading Merry Christmases right now, if at all.

Snow is falling and the town is blanketed in white. It looks like something from out of a movie – or a fairy tale, as Henry would say.

She tries to pretend that she is just walking with no set destination in mind, but her feet tell a different story. They walk as if on autopilot, until they stop in front of the mayor's house. She takes it in – the picturesque white house, the snow falling and adding an extra charm to it. Tasteful lights, wreaths, and garlands decorate the outside and as she moves up the walk, she can see into the house through the windows that each hold a candle.

Inside, the house is immaculately decorated. It looks like it could've come straight out of a magazine. It's everything that she used to imagine when she would lay in bed, dreaming of what Christmas would be like when she had a family of her own. Banisters wrapped in garland, glowing chandeliers, a fire in the fireplace with beautiful embroidered stockings hanging from the mantle, pinecones and poinsettias, a perfectly set dining room table with fine china and a beautiful centerpiece, and the biggest, most beautiful tree with presents piled high underneath it. It makes her ache, just seeing it all.

But what makes her ache most of all is the scene playing out in the living room. Regina and Henry are seated together by the tree. Henry is smiling and laughing as he pulls open present after present. Whatever ill feelings he holds towards his mother are gone, it seems, in the spirit of the season.

She realizes as she watches that she hasn't gotten Henry a gift, and thinks back to the only gift she'd ever bought for another person, 8 years ago. The hurt settles in her chest again, and it's almost like a safety blanket, something she can wrap herself in as she stands out in the cold, watching scenes from a life that could've been hers.

But it isn't her life, not at all, and once again, she is stuck on the outside looking in.

_**2012 – 29 years old** _

She's hiding out at the station, avoiding going back to Mary Margaret's. She knows that Mary Margaret and David are there, cooking dinner and singing carols and kissing under the mistletoe and generally being Christmas-y. She knows that they want her to join in with them, but she just doesn't do Christmas and she doesn't want her mood to ruin their Christmas spirit. She'd left their gifts under the tree. She hopes they understand.

She plans to just stay at the station, finish up some paperwork that needs done by the end of the year anyway, and then carefully drop the last few presents she has in her possession off before sneaking into Mary Margaret's and crashing.

Her plans, however, are interrupted by the staccato sound of high heels on the floor, a sound which only one person in Storybrooke makes. She looks up and sure enough, Regina is standing in front of her desk.

"Miss Swan." Regina lifts an elegant eyebrow. "You are late."

Emma's brow furrows. "I beg your pardon?"

"Christmas dinner was scheduled to begin at my home twenty minutes ago."

"O-kay?"

Regina lets out an almost frustrated puff of air before addressing Emma again. "And yet, here you still sit. Hence, being late."

The light bulb clicks on. "Wait, are you saying – are you inviting me to Christmas dinner?"

Now Regina rolls her eyes. "Surely you're not that dense, dear."

She turns on her heels and heads for the door. Emma stares after her, still confused.

"Oh for goodness sake!" Regina sighs when she realizes that Emma is not following her. "The turkey is getting cold, Miss Swan. Are you coming, or not?"

"I – yes!" Emma hops up from her chair, grabs the bag that contains the wrapped gifts, and follows after Regina.

**

Henry's smile is huge when she walks through the door. "You came!"

"Sure I did, kid." She smiles as she hugs him, taking in the picture perfect holiday décor throughout the house. It's as she remembers it from last year and again, she thinks of all those childhood images she'd clung to.

"Shall we eat now that everyone is finally here? Or are we going to continue to let the food get cold?" Regina calls from the dining room.

Henry smiles at Emma. "Coming, Mom!"

**

After a delicious dinner, Regina announces that it is time for Henry to begin getting ready for bed.

"But Mom, it's still early!" He whines slightly.

"Henry," Emma admonishes softly, "listen to your mother."

"But –" He looks from Regina to Emma and back again. There's a question in his eyes.

"What is it, Henry?" Regina asks him.

"Will Emma be here for Christmas?"

And Emma's eyes widen as she realizes what he's asking. Dinner tonight had been one thing, but to be there for Christmas morning? She's fairly certain that that is definitely overstepping the tentative bounds that she and Regina had managed to work out. Even if she has been spending her nights there for almost eight months now, she and Regina have never acknowledged it outside of her bedroom (or office or Emma's office or the bathroom at the diner). And Henry is certainly not aware of it.

But Regina doesn't even blink at the question. "Of course she will be."

"What?" Emma blurts out the word before she can stop herself.

"I assumed that you would want to stay and spend Christmas morning with your son, Miss Swan. Unless you have other plans?"

"N-no, I don't have any other plans. I just thought –"

"Well, clearly you thought wrong, dear." There's a sparkle in Regina's eyes. "The guest room is already made up for you."

Henry jumps out of his seat and runs to hug first Regina and then Emma. "Awesome! I'm going to get ready for bed. I'll see you in the morning!"

Emma waits until he is out of sight before speaking. "Regina, what are you - ?"

Regina waves her hand, dismissing the question. "It's Christmas. Henry wishes to spend it with you and I assume you wish to spend it with Henry. I thought we had gotten past this Evil Queen image of me."

Emma grabs her hand for a moment and squeezes. "We have. You know we have. But I just didn't think – I mean, Christmas is for family and I – "

"Much as I have tried to deny it in the past, you are Henry's mother, too. Now, I believe you need to place some presents under the tree. And I will need your assistance after Henry is asleep."

Emma's eyebrow raises.

"To help put out his presents, Miss Swan." Regina chastises.

Emma laughs. "Right."

She picks up the bag and starts to head for the living room, but turns back in the doorway. "Regina? Thank you. I've never really had – and this is – this just means a lot."

Regina nods, a soft, tender look on her face. "You're welcome."

**

Henry wakes Emma and Regina (in separate beds, although just barely) at six o'clock to open presents. His excitement makes them both smile, although Emma's is a little bigger than Regina's.

He rips through the paper with joy, laughing and posing for pictures as he goes. When he opens his gift from Emma – the entire Harry Potter collection – his eyes go wide.

"I thought you could use some new stories, kid." Emma tells him with a grin.

"This is great!" Henry tells her as he hugs her tightly.

"Yeah, great." She hears Regina whisper from beside her on the couch. "Now he's going to think I'm Voldemort."

Emma laughs loudly at that. "Don't worry." She places her hand on Regina's knee for a second and squeezes before removing it. "You're too pretty to be Voldemort."

"Open mine!" Henry interrupts them, thrusting boxes into each of their laps.

They pull open the wrapping to discover that he has gotten them the same gift. Still, it brings a sheen of tears to each of their eyes. For nestled in tissue paper is a picture frame – Regina's black and Emma's silver – that houses a black and white picture of the three of them together. It's an obviously candid shot, as none of them are looking at the camera. Instead, Henry is in the middle, holding on to each of their hands with one of his own, a smile lighting his face, and Emma and Regina are each looking down at him.

"Henry." Emma breathes as she looks at it. "This is beautiful."

"How on earth did you -?"

Henry smiles. "Mary Margaret helped me. She took the picture after the Thanksgiving play." He studies both women before him. His mothers. "Do you like it? I have other pictures of just the two of us if you want."

"I love it." Emma smiles at him.

"It's perfect." Regina tells him, touching his cheek.

He basks in their praise for a few moments before turning back to the still unwrapped presents bearing his name.

Both women take a few moments to compose themselves before Emma hands a present to Regina. "I – I wasn't sure what to get you, so – it's okay if you hate it. Just um, be careful. It's kind of – well, just be careful."

Regina looks at the present quizzically before carefully opening it. Inside what appears to be a bakery box, she finds a pie.

"An apple pie?" Her eyebrows lift.

"Freshly baked, yesterday morning." Emma smiles an impish smile.

"And where did you procure the apples to make this pie?" Regina asks.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" She laughs.

"Am I to believe that you made this and that it is edible?" Still, Regina's voice is teasing, with none of the bitterness of before.

"It's definitely edible. Henry's not the only one who got Mary Margaret to help him with his present." Emma admits.

"Should I be worried?" She asks with a grin.

"The Evil Queen poisons Snow White, not the only way around, remember?" Emma teases right back.

"Touché, Miss Swan."

"But, just in case you're really worried…" She hands her another, smaller gift.

Regina carefully opens it, revealing a small crystal figurine – a swan with an apple sitting on the ground in front of it. It is beautiful and delicate, and Regina handles it with care.

"I thought it was pretty and that you might like it." Emma explains awkwardly. She's never been good at this sort of thing – too many years with no one to buy presents for.

"It's beautiful." Regina says, and Emma knows that she is being sincere. "Thank you."

She carefully tucks the figurine back in the box before handing Emma a small, perfectly wrapped present.

Emma swallows hard, feeling emotions rising in her throat. Henry giving her a present was one thing – one beautiful, amazing thing that she'd thought would never happen. But Regina giving her a present? Someone who was in no way obligated to do so? That was big.

"Aren't you going to open it?" Regina asks, quietly.

"Oh, sure." Emma carefully pulls the paper off to reveal a black box. Her eyes fly up to meet Regina's, but as usual, the brunette has complete control of her emotions and Emma can't read her. She lifts the lid off to reveal a necklace.

It's similar to the circular pendant that she usually wears, only this one is a heart, and instead of tiny diamonds, tiny rubies are embedded into it. Emma's eyes widen and fly up to Regina's again. A heart. She had given her a heart.

Regina smirks then. "Don't read too much into it, Miss Swan." But the sparkle in Regina's eyes tells Emma that she should absolutely read into it.

"Of course not, Madame Mayor."

Their eyes stay locked on each other until Henry finally interrupts. "Is that pie? Can we have some?"

Both women laugh. Regina stands and heads for the kitchen carrying the pie and Emma follows her. She checks to be sure Henry cannot see them, then pushes Regina against the refrigerator and kisses her.

And as she feels Regina's fingers tangle in her hair, there's no doubt in her mind that this is the best Christmas she's ever had.  



End file.
